


Opposites

by stardreamer



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Backstory, F/M, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 19:56:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardreamer/pseuds/stardreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gul Dukat needs a new "personal servant" (aka body-slave). But he gets rather more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my personal take on how the Dukat/Naprem relationship might have gone. Gul Rumik is my own invention, although he owes a certain amount to Robert A. Heinlein, who wrote memorable military characters.

"Where are you, Naprem? It's time to go!" Gul Dukat, commander of Terok Nor, was impatient.

"Right here –" she came out of the bedroom they shared. "Just making certain that nothing important has been left behind."

"After six weeks of packing, if anything is left I doubt it will be of any significance. And in any case, I could always send it along to you later. Where is Ziyal?"

"Saying goodbye to Nurse. You know at her age this kind of thing is difficult. And it's not as if we had far to walk – only up to the docking ring. We won't be late."

Even now, there was no hint of irritation about her, no annoyance or fluster at his own ill-temper. She smiled serenely at him, and he felt his heart skip a beat. _After all these years,_ he thought. It was hard now to remember a time when he hadn't thought her beautiful – but of course, there had been…

* * *

"I grow weary of this, Rumik." Gul Dukat leaned back in his chair with the air of a man who is indeed reaching the end of his patience.

The head of the Kalota Mining Settlement laughed. "I should think so," he said with a knowing look. "This is – what, the eighth one you've traded off in your first two years? Your prowess is becoming downright legendary! But you've only yourself to blame if you wear them out so fast."

"It's no laughing matter from here," Dukat grumbled. "Believe it or not, most of the time it's been simply that they bore me too quickly. And the one time I thought I had one who wouldn't become dull for a while…"

"That would be the last but one?"

Dukat sighed. "You'd think she would have been grateful. After all, the duties of a station servant are far less onerous than those of a uridium mine worker. But no, _she_ had to have a flair for the dramatic!"

The older man shook his head. "There was nothing you could have done, Dukat," he said quietly. "Most of these Bajorans are tame enough – but some of them it just takes that way, and you can't tell one sort from the other until it happens. I suppose they see it as the ultimate escape. Still, to have cut her throat in your own bed with your own dagger… does seem a little excessive."

"I didn't know she even knew where I kept it. Not to mention that all the bed furnishings were absolutely ruined – soaked with blood beyond redemption, even the field generator was shorted out. Try explaining _that_ when you requisition a new one!"

"Embarrassing," Rumik agreed. "You were lucky she didn't use it on you first."

"I know," said Dukat wryly. "Unfortunately, so does Elim Garak." He scowled at some private thought, and then leaned forward. "'Legendary' prowess or not, I want to stop this… unseemly parade. Do you have any suggestions?"

There was a long pause. "If you're serious about this…?"

"I am."

"Then I might indeed have a suggestion," Rumik said. "You younger officers…" He shook his head indulgently. "The first Occupation posting sends you reeling, all of you alike. Once you settle down enough to start thinking with your heads again, I bring out the ones worth keeping. There's more to a woman than looks, even when the woman is a Bajoran slave. And there's one I've been saving out for just this occasion."

Dukat looked skeptical. "What makes her so special?" he asked.

"I think I'll let you find that out for yourself," Rumik replied with a smile. "Frankly, it would be a kindness to me if you'd take her; she's not suited for mining work, and if she sickens again I'll have to have her killed – which would be a great pity. But take my word for it, she's more what you're looking for than that string of empty-headed beauties you've been picking. Not that she's ugly, mind you – I wouldn't do that to you. Just look her over, and then tell me what you think. Her name is Tora Naprem."

 

At first glance, she didn't look promising – a rail-thin, ragged Bajoran woman of no special beauty, sitting dispiritedly in her cell. Dukat was even more skeptical. After having his choice of the finest the camps had to offer, this seemed like a joke. But then he remembered how quickly all the "finest" women had ceased to interest him, and Rumik's counsel on other occasions had been to his benefit. It was at least worth a try, and if it didn't work out he could always bring her back.

He nodded to the guard. "Let me speak with her." The door opened, and she looked up. Well, one point in her favor – she didn't flinch. And another – her eyes made up for a lot in the way of looks. They were a clear, deep sea-green, unusual even among Bajorans and unheard-of on Cardassian women; Dukat found himself staring, and had to recall himself sharply to business.

"Tora Naprem?" She nodded, but said nothing. "I am Gul Dukat of the Second Order, commander of Terok Nor. I require a servant, and Gul Rumik speaks well of you. Pack your belongings; I will send someone to collect you within the hour."

She stood up. "I have no 'belongings' here beyond what I wear now," she said. "We may go immediately if you wish."

 _So quickly,_ he thought, _and so calmly?_ For this was not the resignation of a depressed and broken slave. Naprem's expression was serene; those eyes had taken his measure in one quick glance and accepted her fate. _Rumik is right,_ he thought, momentarily taken aback; _this one is special._

He recovered his composure quickly. "Very well, come along." She walked, very properly, one pace behind him as they headed for his shuttle.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The definition of "rape" used by Gul Rumik here is not one that I personally endorse.

It was nearly time to leave – and once they stepped into the public corridors, their behavior would have to be that which was proper between master and servant. Dukat crossed the room and took her into his arms; this would be their true goodbye. He kissed her long and tenderly, then drew back to look deeply into her eyes. Once again, as long ago, he lost himself in their berylline depths…

* * *

She cleaned up nicely; the simple cut of a servant's tunic suited her elegant leanness well. Dukat brought her to the quartermaster, who in turn instructed her in the maintenance routine of an officer's accommodation. The few belongings appropriate to a personal servant were installed in her cubicle adjoining his bedroom. As to other, more intimate duties required of a woman in her position…

On the advice of Gul Rumik, he had waited several weeks before bringing her to his bed. "Rape," the older man had said, "is no way to begin a liaison which you want to last for any length of time. Give her the chance to observe you; have her attend you at meals and make polite conversation with her. Don't use her too roughly when you do take her – and remember, in the long run _your_ pleasure will be the greater if you take some thought for hers. A little kindness can go a very long way in this matter." During those first few weeks, he had occasionally caught a momentary look of puzzlement on her face when he bade her goodnight. 

"Naprem?" She turned to him attentively. "You will sleep in my room tonight." 

"As my lord requires." She continued clearing away the remains of his meal. Was there a hint of tension in her posture? Suddenly his long-deferred appetites were too strong to be denied. 

"Leave that." He strode around the table to pull her close. His lips found hers; his hands wandered over her back and her slender flanks. She did not resist, but neither did she respond. He drew back, fighting for control. Her face was as unruffled as ever, but at this distance he could see the fluttering pulse in her throat. _She will die before she lets me see her fear,_ he thought, and abruptly he recalled the one who had. _Not again…_

"I am not the monster you may think me, Naprem," he said. "I had hoped you would begin to realize this by now. It is no part of my intention that this aspect of your duties should be entirely unpleasant for you." 

A spark lit in her green eyes. "How can it be anything but unpleasant to submit to the murderer of my world and my people?" she said with quiet bitterness. "You are my owner, my body is yours to use as you will, my life yours to take if you so choose – but at least let us not have lies between us." 

He should have been angry at such words coming from a slave, but instead he found that her unflinching courage left him reluctantly impressed. "We shall not, then," he replied. "You still have one choice remaining: whether to submit with dignity, and allow me to leave you that dignity, or to fight and force me to subdue you. I think – no, I should say I hope – that you have sense enough to choose the first course." He led her into the bedroom.


	3. Chapter 3

"You seem disturbed," she said. "Is something wrong?" 

"No more than is wrong already." He sighed. "I wish this were unnecessary." 

Naprem shook her head. "This conversation we have already had. You feel that it _is_ necessary, and I defer to your judgment in these matters." 

"The Occupation will not last another two years," he said. "The Empire has taken what it easily can from your world, and the Resistance… is still there. Morale is low, and the Central Command has problems of its own on Cardassia Prime. They will have no desire to fight a war on two fronts. And there is no place for you on Cardassia, nor on Bajor with Ziyal. No, this is the best way – the only way I can see for you and her."

Just for a moment, she looked wistful. "Will I ever see you again?" 

Dukat stroked her face gently. "I… do not know. I cannot promise anything; once I have returned to Cardassia, there will be many more eyes on my movements. I have enemies who would not hesitate to use your existence, and Ziyal's, against me. But I will miss you." 

"Of course you will," she teased. "You'll have to break in another servant."

"Not a task which I anticipate with any pleasure," he said wryly. "But, Naprem – my word on this much, at least. I will never forget you, and someday, if I can, I will come to you." 

She nodded soberly. "And I will wait for you, beloved…"

* * *

The relationship had remained at that fragile level for several months. Dukat, still mindful of Rumik's cautions, had been careful never to take out the frustrations of his command in his bed. She, in turn, had provided exemplary service, but no more than that. Although he had learned enough about Bajoran sexual response to ensure that his attentions were not painful for her, he was also well aware that they never stirred her in the slightest. He began to view it as a challenge – to make her come to him with desire to match his own. So matters still stood one morning as she accompanied him on an errand.

A Cardassian curse, a cry of pain – Dukat strode around the corner to discover two soldiers savagely beating an elderly Bajoran woman. His response was immediate and decisive; he struck one man heavily to the floor, backhanded the other against the wall, and placed himself between the two and their victim. 

"What is the meaning of this?" His voice crackled with the authority of command, and cold fury glittered in his eyes. The two men flinched. 

One of them tried to bluster it out. "She was in our way, sir. We were just trying to teach her a lesson." 

"I see." Dukat's voice was edged with frost. "Such _honorable_ combat – two trained fighters against one unarmed, helpless woman. Is this behavior befitting a soldier of the Cardassian Empire?" They looked away, unable to meet his eyes. 

A small crowd had gathered, attracted by the sound of angry voices. Dukat picked out a young adjutant. "You – place these men on report. Then take the woman to the infirmary, see that she is fully healed, and," he pulled out a padd and pressed controls quickly, then handed it to the young officer, "by my order, see to it that she receives their food rations for the rest of today." He turned back to the two offenders. "Let your empty bellies remind you to behave more appropriately in the future." 

Having settled the matter, he turned back to his errand. Naprem, who had watched the whole episode with a bemused expression, followed. 

 

Serving his dinner that evening, she seemed preoccupied. After a while, she made him a formal reverence and said, "My lord, may I ask you a question?" 

"You may ask me anything you like, Naprem," he replied. "I will not always guarantee an answer." 

"Why did you punish those men? The woman – she was only a slave. Many of my people have undergone like treatment at the hands of yours. What made this different?" She looked at him intently, as though there were some sort of hidden meaning to the question. 

It had been a trying day. Where the impulse came from Dukat had no idea, but he did not argue with it. "Naprem, sit down," he said. "Get yourself a glass first." 

He poured juice for her with his own hands. "As I said at the time, there was no honor in their actions. It angered me." He sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair. "But there is more to it than that. We are a conqueror race, you know this; and to take slaves from among the conquered is no more than our right. But there is a difference between slaves and vermin, and daily I see this distinction being lost among my troops, and even some of their officers. I cannot seem to correct this tendency, and in the long run it is counter-productive. No enemy is more dangerous than one who feels he has nothing to lose." 

He smiled at her. "I have told you before that I am not such a monster as you might think. I cannot control the actions of troops in the field, but I can at least hold those stationed here to a higher level of conduct. Does that answer you?" 

She nodded. "Quite adequately, my lord," she said. But for the rest of the evening there was an abstracted look on her face, as though he had given her more to think about than just the answer to her question.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter -- there was a lot of discussion to get through in this one. The concept of the _k'airth_ is borrowed from _In Conquest Born_ by C.S. Friedman, because it seems to describe the relationship between Dukat and Garak very well.

How much longer they would have stood there he didn't know, but Ziyal came out of her room. Her face was calm, but her eyes had a slight redness about them.

Dukat turned to her. "Are you ready to go now?" he asked. 

"Yes, Father." Her voice was subdued. 

He went to her, held her close. _She grows more like her mother every day,_ he thought. "Ziyal," he said, looking directly into her eyes, "you know there will be many who will see your very existence as a shameful thing, and I cannot be there to protect you from them. All I can say is this: you should never be ashamed of yourself, for you are the daughter of my heart. Hurtful words can only affect you if you let them. _Be_ who you are, never let other people define your life, and you will make me very proud." 

She smiled tremulously up at him. "I will remember," she said. 

Dukat remembered also…

* * *

That evening had marked a turning point of sorts. He had begun to have her take her dinner with him, and to discuss with her the events of the day. She was intelligent and observant; her comments on station life and his fellow officers, once she felt confident enough to share them with him, were highly accurate, occasionally acerbic, and always refreshing. Talking his frustrations over with her frequently brought him to realize new solutions or options. As the months went by, he also began to see a gradual change in her attitude toward him. She was more relaxed, less wary, and for the first time seemed to be taking some degree of pleasure from their physical relationship. But after almost two years, there was still a core of resistance he could not pierce, a part of her that she held aloof from him, and their nights together were always at his instigation.

 

"You are very quiet tonight, Naprem. Is something wrong?" 

"I am… very tired, my lord," she said slowly.

Dukat raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You have been tired before, but it has not affected your conversation. If something worries you, you should tell me." 

She looked up with a ghost of a smile. "Should I?" 

"Of course," he said. "Very likely there is something I can do about it." 

That produced a definite spark of amusement, which he did not quite understand. Then her expression sobered again. "Garak spoke with me today." 

His benevolent mood soured quickly. "And why, I wonder, would the great Elim Garak stoop to have speech with a servant?" He got up from his chair, pacing angrily around the room. 

"He made a careful point of telling me how unusual it is for you to keep a servant so long, but I do not believe that was his real purpose," she said. "It was unfortunate that he should encounter me outside the infirmary." She looked up at him with eyes shadowed by concern. "He frightens me, my lord. He says nothing, does nothing that one can take exception to, but I felt the anger behind his smooth words. His eyes are like those of a venomous reptile toying with its prey. And he hates you." 

Dukat paused in his pacing and snorted. "Rest assured, the feeling is mutual. At the moment, my hands are tied. He is the protégé of the head of the Obsidian Order, and one does not interfere with the Order. But he is ambitious, and one day he will make a mistake. And when that happens –" Suddenly the rest of her words registered, and he turned on his heel to face her. "What were you doing at the infirmary?" he asked sharply. 

Naprem licked her lips in a highly uncharacteristic gesture of nervousness, but made no reply. Furthermore, for the first time in his memory, she would not meet his eyes. 

"Are you ill?" he asked. "Have you done yourself an injury somehow? Did you go there to visit someone you know?" To each question she mutely shook her head, and his irritation grew. This was not the cool, composed Naprem he knew; something must be seriously wrong, and to his shock he realized that the cold knot of fear in his gut was not for his own position, but for her. 

He refused to acknowledge it. Crossing to where she sat, he caught her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him. "Must I order you to answer me? _Why_ did you go to the infirmary?"

She took a deep breath. "I carry your child, my lord," she said.

Dukat felt his face go blank with shock. His hand dropped away from her jaw and he sat down, slowly, in the nearest chair. It was several minutes before he could muster his faculties enough to speak. 

"How did this happen?" he asked. "Did you not renew the implant when it was time?" 

"Of course I did! You were," she smiled wanly, "most insistent about it, if you recall. The doctor says it must have been defective. He also removed what was left of it; he says the child might be damaged otherwise." 

_The child!_ He was a-roil with emotions, so many warring for supremacy that none could be identified. It was all he could do to keep his inner turmoil from showing far too plainly on his face. 

A child for him, by his lovely Naprem…  
An illicit, half-Bajoran child that would be a constant threat to him…  
A child of his blood… 

"I must think about this," he said. "How long –?" 

"The doctor said no more than two months," she replied. She looked away from him again. "He said, not old enough that getting rid of it would present any problem." 

"That would doubtless be the wisest course," Dukat said slowly. "You cannot imagine the scandal were it to become generally known that the commander of Terok Nor had fathered a child on a Bajoran woman. Nor would its repercussions be confined to me alone; my entire family would be humiliated, ruined." He managed a faint smile. "And, of course, there are your feelings to consider. Merely being my servant exposes you to a fair amount of crude comment, I know. Bearing a half-Cardassian child would put you in a much more difficult position; you might never be able to return home." 

She said nothing, merely looked at him. Strange how a total lack of expression could convey so much misery… A single tear rolled down her cheek. 

He paused, bewildered. "Is this not what you want?" he asked. "I cannot read your mind, Naprem, if you have objections to make you must voice them." It occurred to him that she might be afraid of his reaction. "You may speak freely," he continued. "When have I ever punished you for doing so? And did we not agree, at the very beginning, that there would be no lies? I have kept my end of the bargain all this time. Will you break it now?" 

"It has never before been a matter that… touched you so directly." 

Even in the midst of such a serious discussion, Dukat could not suppress a smile at her unwitting wordplay. He got up and poured a glass of kanar from his private stock. "Here," he said, taking it to her. "You are upset. This will take the edge off." He poured a glass for himself as well and sat back down, facing her. 

Naprem drained half her glass in one gulp. She was more shaken than he had ever seen her. Of course, it was an unsettling situation, but surely her reaction was excessive. _Or perhaps hormonal,_ he thought, remembering rough jokes among his officers about pregnant wives and their moods. He had never been at home long enough to observe his wife during the early stages of any of her pregnancies. He took several deep swallows of kanar and waited for its numbing effect to set in. He needed it no less than she. 

"Now, Naprem," he said at last, "Tell me what you think about this. No – tell me what you feel. I have an important decision to make, and I refuse to make it without such a key piece of information." 

"Are my feelings of such vital importance to you?" she asked, clearly dubious. 

" _You_ are important to me," he replied. "Garak sought to unsettle you by implying that I would soon tire of you as I have of other servants. But the others were not like you. They were stupid, or incompetent, or rebellious – sometimes all three. There was never one I spared a thought for outside the bedroom, and that novelty does not last long. Your elegance graces my quarters, your competence is beyond question, your conversation a constant source of refreshment. The position of command is a lonely one, Naprem; one never knows which of one's peers or underlings is readying a knife for one's back. I never expected this to happen," he mused, "but somehow over the last two years… you have become a companion to me, one I would be loath to lose. And on a matter which also touches you so directly," he smiled at her and received a weak answering smile in exchange, "I want to hear anything you have to say." 

She stared into her glass, then suddenly raised it and downed what was left. "No lies…" she said, as if to herself. "Very well, then." 

She sat up very straight, as if preparing to recite a schoolroom lesson. "When you first brought me here," she said, "I thought I knew what to expect. I had never met a Cardassian who was not coarse, brutal and vicious. And even in that camp, there were stories about you, how you used up your women in a few months. I thought if I could just hold out that long, you would either take me back there or kill me yourself. Either way, the result would have been the same, and I was prepared for it." 

Her mouth quirked. "I wasn't prepared for you at all. You showed me courtesy, from the very beginning – not that you ever let me forget I was a slave, but… I suppose it goes back to what you said once, about the difference between slaves and vermin. I never felt like vermin with you, as I did in the camp." 

Her eyes unfocused for a minute. Dukat was puzzled by what seemed to be irrelevant reminiscence, but he had said he would hear her out and was determined to do so. "Continue, Naprem," he said quietly. "I am listening." 

"I have to find the right words," she replied abstractedly. After a few more moments she looked at him again. 

"Not to be brutalized – it makes a difference," she said. "You never took pleasure in giving me pain, even when you were angry about something – even when I told you how I felt about sharing your bed. I expected to be hurt that night, and you were – well, 'gentle' is the wrong word, but you should remember. I didn't know what to think. 

"Then you started _talking_ to me. I was afraid to say much at first, but you kept encouraging me to tell you what I thought about this or that. I had no idea why you would be interested in the conversation of a slave – at least, not for a while." She gave a faint chuckle. "Eventually I realized what you were doing. You were using me for a sounding board, throwing ideas at me to get an outside perspective. By the time you had spent an evening discussing a problem, you had a very good idea how you were going to solve it." 

She leaned forward in her chair. "But, you see – those conversations taught _me_ a lot about you, and about those with whom you deal as well. I've come to realize that not all Cardassians are alike, any more than all Bajorans are. And of all the Cardassians I know anything about…" Her eyes dropped. "I am glad it was you who chose me." 

There was another long pause. Naprem picked up her glass, tilting it for the dregs. 

"Would you like some more?" Dukat asked, standing. This was turning into a long story; she might well be thirsty – or, from the look of her, she might be recruiting courage out of the glass. 

"Yes, if you please." She smiled up at him. "I have never had this before. It's very smooth." 

"And very strong," he cautioned, filling both glasses again. "I would drink it more slowly if I were you." 

She took a few swallows, and then put the glass down. "Would you like to know what I have learned about you?" she asked. 

"Yes, I would." _Not that I think it would matter if I didn't,_ he thought. Even one glass of kanar was a lot for someone of her small frame. But he had a feeling that he was going to hear thoughts she would never have dared to voice otherwise, and he was curious – not to mention beginning to feel more relaxed himself. _They say there's truth in the bottom of a bottle…_

"You are strong, without being rigid," she said. "You hold others to a high standard, but yourself to a higher one still. You have a high regard for honor, and are outraged when others do not – the more so when you feel they should know better. You are a man of strong passions, but you have mastered them rather than letting them master you. You have learned to do the expedient thing when you must, but it has never come easily to you; you would rather do the right thing and let the consequences fall as they may. And one more thing –" she paused, taking another deep drink and leaning forward. 

"You sound like the fortune-spinner at the fair," he said, amused. "What else?" 

"You have within you the capacity for what we call the _k'airth_ , the private war. The duel that shapes your life, the opponent for hate of whom you must discard all of your own vulnerabilities and become a perfect warrior, the better to fight him. But the _k'airth_ is a double-edged sword; once you enter into it, you will come to _need_ your opponent as much as you hate him – and the same will be true for him. For once either of you has won, what will there be left? The bonds of hate can be as strong as those of love – and as permanent." 

Dukat felt a chill run down his spine. There was a legend that some Bajorans had the gift of foresight; he had never believed it, but there was something about this that gave him pause. The look in her eyes, the cadence of her voice… _I am imagining things,_ he told himself roughly. _It is only the kanar speaking._

She sat back again, shaking her head. "But enough of this. My lord, I know you have said things to me which would cause you endless trouble if anyone else heard them. I don't understand why you trust me, a slave, with such confidences – but I also know that I have said some very indiscreet things to you, and you have never betrayed me. 

"You never expected this to happen, and I never wanted it, but it seems to have happened despite either of us. I would never have thought that I could… care for a Cardassian – and yet now you mean so much to me that losing you would be like losing part of myself. 

"And the same is true of this child. We care deeply for our children, and for that reason alone I would want to keep it. But I want it also becaush… because it is yours." 

Naprem started to get up, and then abruptly sat back down. "My lord…" she said faintly. 

"I shouldn't have given you the second glass," he said. "Do you feel queasy?" 

"No… but the room won't hold still," she replied. 

"Close your eyes. It will be easier that way." He picked her up and carried her to the bed in her cubicle. After a moment's thought, he fetched a bucket and set it by the bed as well. "You may have need of this before morning. In the future, I think I will have to curb your intake of strong liquors." 

"I'm… shorry…" her voice was shaky and barely audible. 

"I am only teasing you, Naprem. Goodnight." 

Dukat returned to the front room and refilled his glass again. _Truth in the bottle indeed,_ he thought. There was a truth he needed to face, too – and it might well take him the rest of the bottle to do it.


	5. Chapter 5

The alarm stabbed him like a Resistance fighter's knife. He sat up rapidly, and was immediately sorry he had done so. "Alarm off!" he snarled. His mouth was desert-dry, and his head felt six sizes too large. He got up and headed for the bathroom, but his coordination was off and his shoulder banged painfully into the door-frame. 

A cold shower and a pot of redleaf tea later, he was able to tolerate normal lighting and his head felt only two sizes inflated. Still, this was not going to be a day to make important military decisions. Just as well, since he had other things to think about. He dressed, more slowly than usual; his fingers were still a little clumsy. As he was about to depart, he considered looking in on Naprem; but even as he was reaching for the door-curtain of her cubicle, he heard unmistakable and unpleasant sounds issuing from within and thought better of the impulse. _Poor little thing,_ he thought, and set another pot of tea and a cup prominently on the table before leaving. 

His first stop was the infirmary, where the doctor on duty gave him an analgesic and insisted that he drink an entire pitcher of water. "Most of a hangover is due to dehydration," the man said. "Drink this much again in an hour; it'll do more for your head than the hypo will. Increase your intake of fluids for the rest of the day, and by tomorrow you should be fine. Maybe next time you'll think twice before celebrating so hard." 

Dukat's hand jerked, spilling some of the water – _Is the rumor already about?_ But a closer look showed no knowing expression on the medic's face. No, he realized, this was just the standard speech that went with hangover treatment – and the man was definitely enjoying the opportunity to use it on his commanding officer. Oh well, he had only himself to blame, nor was it worth making an issue out of it. 

He continued to the station's control room, where his aide waited for him. "Cancel all my appointments for the day," he said. "I am not available for anything short of a system-wide emergency." 

"Very well, sir." The aide scanned his schedule padd. "There was nothing of major importance on your agenda today anyhow." 

"Excellent." He started toward his office. "Now, see to it that I am not disturbed – and bring me a pitcher of water." 

"With a glass, sir?" The aide knew him well enough to be aware of his less-than-optimum condition, and was not above ragging him a little. 

"Yes, of course with a glass! I can see," he observed ruefully, "that this is _not_ going to be a good day." 

After an hour's hard thinking, he knew what his decision was going to be – and, more importantly, why. Then it took another hour of research to discover what he should do next. _This is not going to be simple,_ he thought. The item he needed would be easy to get through the quartermaster's office, but then everyone on the station would know he had done so – not to mention that he didn't even want to think about using looted goods for this purpose. He could go down to the planet, but then he wouldn't really know where to look. He badly needed some advice, and there was only one logical place to go for it… 

 

"Well, if it isn't Dukat! I haven't seen you for quite a while," Rumik said heartily. "Come in, sit down, and be comfortable." Then he took a closer look. "You look like the morning after the night before; is something wrong?" 

"Not – exactly." Dukat hesitated, thinking about how to word his request. 

"I hear you're still keeping the woman I sent home with you. I told you she was a good one." Rumik leaned forward in his chair. "Or is that what this is about? Have you decided to trade her in at last?" 

"No, I'm still finding her – quite satisfactory." _Just spit it out, it only looks worse when you sit here dithering!_ "I need to acquire a Bajoran pledge bracelet – and I need to do so legitimately." 

"A pledge bracelet," Rumik said thoughtfully, leaning back again. "And you can't just pull one from stores. You know how this will look if it gets out, don't you?" 

"Do I not! That's why I came to you. You were the only person I could think of who would know how to get hold of one that I could trust to be quiet about it afterwards." 

The older man looked at him sympathetically. "Want to talk about it?" 

Suddenly the urge to share his burden with someone else became overwhelming. "Naprem is pregnant," he said flatly. 

"You plan to let her keep the child?" 

"I have no choice in the matter," Dukat said. "You were right about her, Rumik – she is special, very much so. I never have to worry about details; my quarters have never been so well kept. Anything I want done is done, and sometimes even things I've only thought about wanting." 

He paused, considering his next words. "She also provides me with something which I have come to value even more… companionship, both in and out of the bedroom. The child is an accident, and I could force her to be rid of it – and no doubt I should, from a practical viewpoint. But if I do, I will destroy every understanding we have reached between us. I may destroy her as well, and that I am not willing to do. " 

Rumik nodded. "I see. But that still doesn't explain a pledge bracelet," he said. 

"She will have my sworn word – but this is not an ordinary situation. I want her to have something tangible to remind her of my promise. To remind her… of how important she is to me." 

"That's the crux of the matter, isn't it? How important she is to you." Rumik looked at him intently, and Dukat had the impression that the other man had heard the thing he had carefully avoided saying. "Oh, you can trust me; never fear I'll say a word about any of this. And it's your decision, if you want to take the risk. I just hope you know what you're getting into." 

Dukat smiled. "She's worth the risk, Rumik." 

 

When he returned to his quarters, rather later than his customary dinner hour, they were as immaculate as usual; however, Naprem, who was normally waiting for him, was not to be seen. He found her in her cubicle, dozing uncomfortably in a chair. As his shadow fell across her, she woke. 

"I am sorry, my lord. You are late, and I was thinking." 

"You were sleeping," he said with a trace of a smile. "Doubtless you needed it. Have you eaten today?" 

An expression of revulsion crossed her face briefly. "Not very much. I have drunk several pots of tea. It was very kind of you to leave one out for me." In the brighter light of the front room, he could see that she was still extremely pale. 

"You need to eat. We will have dinner first and then talk." 

He ordered dishes which would be nourishing, yet light on an uneasy stomach. As they ate, he was relieved to see color coming back into her face. By the end of the meal, she seemed almost back to normal. 

"I feel much better, my lord." She sounded surprised. 

"You would have felt better sooner if you had eaten earlier," he scolded gently. "Letting your body languish without nourishment only prolongs the ill effects. But then, you wouldn't know that if you've never done it before." He paused. " _Have_ you ever been drunk before?" 

"No, my lord. Nor had I intended to be last night." There was a certain amount of indignation in her voice. 

Dukat smiled, pleased to see her recovering a little spirit. "I will teach you to handle your liquor better – but not until after the child is born." 

She froze, her eyes going very wide. "You mean – you will let me –?" She stopped, as though unwilling to voice the rest of the question. 

"I told you last night, I have come to value your companionship very highly. I do not like to think about what it would do to you… to us… if I did not let you keep the child." He stood and walked over to her chair, touching her hair in a gentle caress. "We also care deeply for our children, Naprem. Never fear that this little one will not be cherished." 

She shook her head as though dazed. "But last night… you said it would be best to be rid of it. And then you left this morning without a word – and you were gone so late – I thought you were making the arrangements…" She paused, then looked up at him and said simply, "It has been an unrestful day." 

"Small wonder, then, that you were worn out by the end of it," he said contritely. "When I left this morning, you were – in no condition for company. But it was still thoughtless of me not to have informed you that I might be late coming back. Today of all days, I should have realized how it would worry you. 

"As to what I said last night, that is still true. It would be wisest to be rid of this child. But the wisest course is not always the best course. Not that it will be easy," he sighed ruefully. "We will keep the babe's existence as inconspicuous as possible, and I will let it be known that having your child at my mercy seemed a good way to ensure the loyalty of a very satisfactory servant. But there is bound to be some talk." 

"It will not be easy for me either, my lord," she said quietly. "Bearing your child will brand me as a collaborator in the eyes of every Bajoran. But unpleasant as that may be, the thought of _not_ bearing it tears my heart in pieces. I will endure what I must of rough talk and contempt, for the pain of that will be less." 

He looked down at her, once more astounded by the quiet courage with which she faced a future of rejection and abuse at the hands of her own people for the sake of his child. "Then we are in agreement," he said. "One other thing, Naprem. I swear to you that I will cherish this child as I would any other of my blood. However, I will cherish it not only for that reason, but also because it is yours. Give me your hand." 

He pulled out the bracelet and clasped it around her wrist. She looked down at it, then back at him with a confused expression. "But, my lord – your wife?" 

Dukat sighed and sat down in the chair next to hers. "Do not confuse the importance of family to us, or the love we give our children, with the kind of thing that is written in lovers' tales. I have been married for ten years, I have four children – and yet in all that time I have spent scarcely the sum of a year with my wife. We did not marry for love; a young officer with ambitions does well to pay court to the daughter of a high-ranking official. Did you never wonder how I came to be given command of Terok Nor at an age when most men are merely squadron commanders? Nor did it hurt," he smiled thinly at the memory, "that Garak had interests also in that direction. But in the end, she preferred the relatively straightforward advancement of rank in the Central Command to the riskier machinations of the Order." 

Naprem smiled. "Or perhaps she merely preferred a younger and more attractive suitor. It would be only natural." 

He chuckled. "Perhaps. Nonetheless, I know you now far better than I do her; the inevitable result of living with you day by day for two years, as opposed to a week or two at a time when my duties give me leave. I told you that I value the companionship you give me, but it seems there is more to it than that." 

He paused. "You said last night that you never thought you could care for a Cardassian; I had always thought the same about Bajorans. But now… I have come to care for you a great deal, Naprem. In every way except legally, you are far more my wife than she will ever be. The bracelet means nothing outside these rooms, but it is a symbol of my promise to you." 

She held his gaze, and he felt himself drowning in the brilliance of those sea-green eyes. "All that matters is what it means within these rooms… beloved."

That night she came to him of her own will for the first time, and their passion burned bright and hot as the Cardassian sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand here we go into the "Luke & Laura" trope. My only defense is that it does indeed seem to have been canon. I don't have to like it, I just have to make it plausible.


	6. Chapter 6

"The ship should be ready by now," he said. "Get your cloaks and we will go." 

Naprem took a last long look around the quarters which had been her home for fifteen years. "It will seem strange to be somewhere else," she said. 

"Will there be children there my age?" asked Ziyal. With the mercurial temperament of the young, she now seemed excited about the trip. "Will there, Father?" 

"I'm sure there will be," he replied. They stepped into the hall and the door closed behind them. Ziyal skipped ahead in a surge of enthusiasm, and he looked after her fondly. She was such a source of joy…

* * *

There had been so many things to do – annexing another set of rooms to his quarters for a nursery, making sure Naprem got proper medical care without seeming too anxious in the matter, setting the right rumors around in the right quarters… sometimes he wished he had simply insisted she be rid of the child. But then she would look at him with that new softness in her eyes, and he would decide all over again that the prize won was worth the price paid for it.

Rumik had saved him the trouble of finding a nurse for the child, sending a stolid peasant woman to the station for his inspection. Dukat interviewed her himself and was pleased; she was neither stupid nor ignorant, but of a phlegmatic temperament that he judged unlikely to cause trouble. She and Naprem quickly became friends, which pleased him as well. _She needs a companion too,_ he thought, _someone to discuss womanly things with, and having a friend of her own people will make her lot somewhat easier to bear._

The pregnancy was not difficult for Naprem, although her slenderness made for a nearly grotesque bulge as her time drew near. When movement became awkward for her, Nurse (already called by that name to the loss of any other) took over her servant's duties. Labor, however, proved to be a different matter… 

 

"The child is not descending, sir." The doctor's voice was matter-of-fact. "The position seems to be right, she is fully dilated, but the baby is not moving into the birth canal. We believe the problem may be that she is simply too thin. There is not enough room between the bones of her hips for the child to fit through." 

"What can be done?" Dukat strove to keep his voice as calm as the other's. 

"There is only one choice in such a situation. We must deliver the child surgically, through an incision in her abdomen. But then there is a weak spot in the wall of the womb, and if she ever carries another child there is a risk that it will split under the strain. If that happens, she and the child both will almost certainly die. For this reason, we recommend that the womb be removed as well after the delivery of the child." 

_Rendering her barren,_ he thought. If anything should happen to this child, she could never have another. But the thought of what might occur with another pregnancy made him ill with dread. No, he could not face that possibility. 

"So be it, then." He was pleased at the steadiness of his voice. "Do whatever you think is best." 

The doctor disappeared back into the depths of the infirmary. After what seemed like centuries, but was really only another hour, he returned. "You may see her now, sir." 

Naprem lay limp with exhaustion on the bed, cradling a swaddled bundle to her breast. Her face was drained and pale, but her eyes were bright with happiness. She pulled back the cover over the child's head. "Your daughter, my lord." 

He stepped closer to look. The child showed an odd blending of Cardassian and Bajoran characteristics; she had the expected bony ridges, but less prominent than they should have been, and her nose had definite Bajoran creases. Her skin tone was also paler than a Cardassian's, yet without Bajoran pinkness. "She is beautiful," he said, and meant it. "What will you name her?" 

"She will carry my family name," Naprem replied. "But it is for you, her father, to bestow her personal name." 

"Then we will call her Ziyal, which is a Cardassian name meaning 'beauty'. I had several possibilities in mind," he said, "but now that I have seen her, only this one will do. Rest now; I will send Nurse for you when the doctor permits." 

He touched her face gently – the doctor might be watching, and any warmer gesture would be unusual – and returned to his quarters. It was odd, he thought, that he loved none of his other children any the less for loving his little Tora Ziyal more.


	7. Chapter 7

It was well into the station's night; while absolute secrecy about this departure was not an issue, neither did he want any more people than necessary to be aware of it. _The less seen, the less said,_ he had thought while making the arrangements. The lateness of the hour made the normally bustling halls seem eerily quiet. Naprem called Ziyal back to her side and they walked slowly through the empty corridors, past the occasional security guard, the station commander escorting two cloaked and hooded travelers to their ship. There was no conversation; all three were lost in their own thoughts…

* * *

How do you describe happiness? Little enough had happened out of the ordinary after Ziyal's birth. She and Nurse were installed in the new rooms, and between the two women both his needs and the child's were cared for more than adequately. Naprem moved permanently into his room; the small servant's cubicle was refurbished as a Bajoran meditation room. As Ziyal grew older and needed less care, Nurse took over more and more of the actual servant's duties, and Naprem's position became that of chatelaine – except on the rare occasions when he actually met with someone in his quarters. Dukat began to feel that he had a home and family on the station as well as on Cardassia. He suffered occasional pangs of guilt on Naprem's behalf, but none on his own; he continued to do his duty by his wife, and three more children were born as the years went by.

And Ziyal – it was a lonely life for a little one, since there were few children on the station and she had to spend most of her time in their quarters, but she had three adults to love her and she thrived. He contrived to arrange occasional private "family outings" in secured areas on Bajor so that she would not grow up unaware of the outside world. Not precisely the life he would have chosen for her, but the best he could provide. 

The only flaw was the rising tension between Bajor, the station, and Cardassia… 

 

The aide burst into his office. "You are needed at your quarters, sir – an emergency." 

"What kind of emergency?" He was already moving. 

"Security didn't say, sir; they just said to send you immediately." 

Dukat didn't waste time wondering; he simply ran. 

He found his quarters crawling with security personnel; nothing seemed greatly disturbed until he stepped into the bedroom. It looked like the aftermath of a funnel-storm – furniture damaged, belongings flung about, and fragile items shattered. Naprem was sitting on the floor, being tended by a medic. Nurse and Ziyal were making the first attempts at cleaning up the mess. 

One quick glance reassured him that Naprem was relatively unhurt. He turned to Odo, the foundling shape-shifter who he had installed as head of station security. "What happened here?" he demanded. 

"It seems to have been a small anti-personnel bomb," the changeling said. "From what the servant tells us, it was motion-triggered with about a one-minute delay. She says she came in here to put away an item, and then went into the meditation room. The wall shielded her from the worst of it – she just caught a few bits of shrapnel. We're still trying to determine how it was planted. 'How' will go a long way toward telling us 'who'." 

Dukat nodded grimly. "We will need security-scanned quarters to move into while this – atrocity – is being repaired. See to it, and post a guard at the door." He clamped a tight lid onto the outrage that wanted to expend itself in fury at the first available object. "Do you need me for anything else?" 

"Not at the moment," Odo replied. "Later, I will want to interview you to see if you can shed any light on a possible motive." 

"How many do you want?" Dukat asked bitterly. "I'll be in my office when you need me. Keep me informed." 

 

Dinner that evening was a somber affair. When Nurse had bustled Ziyal off to bed, Dukat turned to Naprem. "We need to talk," he said. 

"Have they any idea how the bomb was set?" she asked. 

He paused briefly before answering. "There were no indications of forced entry." 

"But that means –"

"Yes." His expression was grim. "That means that this attempt was probably not the Resistance. Someone was able to get the lock code." 

"It was fortunate, then, that I set it off… the way I did," she said. 

"What makes you so certain that I was the target?" he asked quietly. 

She looked at him with a startled question in her eyes. 

"My schedule is well-known and fairly constant," he continued. "Unless something interferes, I am in my office until early evening. Odo found traces of a timer in the debris. The bomb must have been set to activate in the early afternoon, a time when I am almost never in my quarters – but you and Ziyal are. Furthermore, a bomb set for me would have had a longer delay; one minute would not provide enough time for me to remove my armor. Most conclusive – while the bomb did a fair amount of damage, Odo has determined that it was not strong enough to kill. You were meant to be injured, but no more than that." 

Her face was white with shock. "Why would someone –?" 

"Because," he said, " _someone_ has altogether too good an idea what our relationship really is. This incident has all the marks of the Obsidian Order about it. They attack through the back door, not openly like that Resistance idiot with the suicide bomb last month. And they prefer to find a weakness to exploit if possible." 

She frowned. "But surely – would it not have been a better course to threaten you with the scandal you have spoken of? Or even simply to go ahead and create it?" 

"So it would, if they had any real proof," he said. "This attack is meant to unsettle me; next they will attempt to draw me into a position where I must defend your life, or Ziyal's, openly – and _that_ will give them the leverage they need to make an issue of it." 

Naprem still appeared dubious. "Why would this happen now?" she asked. "They have had twelve years to make an issue of it if they wanted to do so." 

"It is politics, what else?" he said wryly. "Bajor is at the end of a very long supply line, and because of the Resistance, the Occupation has always had cost overruns. The Central Command is finding it harder and harder to justify those costs, and someone is looking for a scapegoat. The commander is a logical target." 

"What can we do?" she asked quietly. 

Dukat shifted position uneasily. "There is only one thing to be done," he replied. "I allowed you to talk me out of it after the last attempt, but now we have no choice. I _must_ get you off the station. Attacks from the Resistance are one thing, but if I am to be under siege from two sides, and one of them my own –" 

He shook his head. "Furthermore, consider your position, and Ziyal's, if something should indeed happen to me. The next commander would have you killed without hesitation… if he did not elect to throw you to the mobs as a collaborator. You must leave, and soon." 

"I… cannot argue any more," she said slowly. "But where will we go?" 

"I have already considered this," he said. "In two months we are sending out a load of prisoners to one of the forced-labor camps, under the command of a man I can trust. Once aboard his ship, you and Ziyal will transfer to a freighter bound for Lissepia, where you should be able to live your lives out in peace. Of course I will provide you with the wherewithal you need to become established." 

She nodded. "That takes care of us, but what about Nurse? Or did you mean to send her along with us?" 

"She must stay here and help me to obscure the exact time of your departure. By the time it is obvious that you are gone, it will be harder to trace your whereabouts. Besides," he smiled, "I will still need a servant, and she can keep up my quarters until I bring in a new one." He saw the pain in his heart mirrored in her eyes. "Not that it will be easy for me to watch another woman where I am used to seeing you – but it would look strange otherwise, and that would be just as bad for my position." 

"So it would." She rose and came over to him. "But if we are to have only two more months, it seems to me that we should make the most of them."


	8. Chapter 8

They reached the airlock. "Is everything ready?" Dukat asked the guard on duty. 

"Yes, sir." 

"Very well." The chance for a few more private moments was not to be cast aside. "You may report to your next assignment. I will close the lock myself." 

"Yes, sir." The guard left. 

Naprem turned to their daughter. "Ziyal, say goodbye to your father and wait for me aboard," she said. 

Ziyal's eyes were bright as she hugged him briefly. "Goodbye, Father," she said softly. With something suspiciously like a stifled sob, she walked down the lock tube. 

They stood looking at each other. There was one more thing he wanted to say; he had never said it, he could not let her go without saying it, but the words stuck in his throat. _The commander of Terok Nor,_ he thought derisively, _tongue-tied like a moonling!_ They couldn't stand here much longer; even at this hour someone might come by. Dukat drew a deep breath and marshaled his determination. "Naprem… I love you." There, it was out at last. 

She smiled and reached up to touch his cheek, green eyes meeting blue for the last time. "I know," she said gently, and turned to enter the ship. She did not look back. 

Dukat watched until the _Ravinok_ had pulled away from the station. He was still numb, but he knew that later the pain would start, and that it would always be part of him from this day forward. _No matter what happens now,_ he thought as he walked back toward his quarters, _at least I know that Naprem and Ziyal are safe._

He tried very hard not to hear the little voice in the back of his head which said, _And so am I._

**Author's Note:**

> This story was published in a hard-copy fanzine about 15 years ago. It has undergone minor revisions in the course of posting here.


End file.
